


Slip Away With Me

by crossingwinter



Series: Star Wars Drabbles & Ficlets [19]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22917232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: @reylo_prompts: Rey models lingerie, Ben is the photographer, Leia is the designer with a knack for tormenting her son.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Star Wars Drabbles & Ficlets [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/926970
Comments: 125
Kudos: 977
Collections: Reylo Prompt Fills (@reylo_prompts)





	Slip Away With Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard/gifts), [jeeno2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeeno2/gifts), [Ever-so-reylo (Ever_So_Reylo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ever_So_Reylo/gifts).



> for the menaces who tagged me in this.
> 
> unbeta'd all mistakes are mine own.

“The hours of the shoot are changing,” his mother tells him at seven am, before he’s had his coffee.

He takes it as a sign of many things that he doesn’t throw his phone out of the window.

The first is that, after many long years, he doesn’t take this as a spiteful act from his mother or more likely one that doesn’t take into account that he has a life, agency, and feelings.

The second is that his mother feels comfortable reaching out to him with bad news at seven am before he’s had his coffee.

There are more, but he won’t get into them. It’s early, and he hasn’t had his coffee.

“Oh?”

“Yeah—the second model got sick and the agency hasn’t been able to find a replacement on short notice.”

“The agency hasn’t got nineteen girls lined up to do a Naberrie shoot?”

He can practically hear his mother grimacing.

“So it’s just the one girl, and it’s gonna be a lot longer because we won’t be able to do alternating shots while she changes.”

“Ok,” Ben says. It’s not like he has much of a life anyway. His raging days are over. He’s a man of processed emotions now. At least that’s what he tells himself. “You realize this is going to up my hourly compensation, right?” A man of processed emotions and artistic bearing who doesn’t work for free, not even for his mom.

“Yes. Since we don’t have the second model, we should be able to make it work for both you and Rey.”

“Got it.” Rey. Simple name. Easy to remember.

“See you at nine,” his mother says.

“You got it, boss.”

And he turns on his coffee machine.

-

It’s a grey day—sort of rainy and spooky, which Ben decides works well for the shoot. 

The model is already there, in the first set of underwear, chatting easily with his mom. He thinks he’s seen her face before. There’s something familiar about her.

“Ben—Rey. Rey, this is my son Ben. Ben, this is Rey Johnson.”

And then it clicks. She’s in the jeans ads he’s been passively absorbing from bus stops. Not much for tits—though the bra she’s wearing sure makes him regret that thought immediately—but her ass is something else in those Daisy Duke shorts they’ve shot her in.

Her ass is something else in the white set she’s wearing now. The fabric is mostly opaque with two straps on her hips connecting the white floral lace between her legs. The bra matches perfectly and he can catch the faintest hint of soft, rosy nipples that seem so much darker in contrast to the white fabric. She looks like an angel. Or a bride. Likely the latter was the intent since his mother has been harping on about the new bridal collection she’s putting together. In fact, his brain is finally catching up with his train of thought and he’s probably  _ shooting _ for the release of her fucking bridal collection. That’s a detail that he should know, but whether it was that he’d forgotten, that his mother hadn’t mentioned it, or staring at Rey’s tits in that bra had just knocked all thought out of his head, he can’t tell.

“Good to meet you,” Rey says, extending her hand and that’s how Ben knows he’s been staring a little too long. 

“And you,” he says. “Where do you want the first one?”

“By the window.” 

He nods and disappears towards it, taking a few shots on his camera to test the light and his lens settings. 

He expects his mother to keep chatting with Rey, but she’s tapping him on the shoulder as he flicks through his camera. 

“Listen,” she says. “I know I don’t need to tell you this, but we’re looking for a sharp contrast between that white and her nipples, ok? The market testing is better.”

“Should be doable,” Ben says idly. 

“Also please, for the love of god, don’t stare at her tits like that when you’re  _ not _ shooting her? I don’t want to get slapped with a lawsuit.”

“I won’t,” he grits out. 

“This isn’t the age of Anakin and Padme. I don’t want to have to fire you because you can’t keep it in your pants.”

Which is how he knows several things at once.

The first is that his mother feels comfortable enough teasing him.

The second is that his mother feels comfortable enough teasing him in a professional setting.

And the third is that it had been extremely obvious to everyone that he’d been more than a little bit taken with Rey.

“You shot lingerie before?” he grunts at her. Cool. Very cool. Totally makes up for his having been hypnotized by her breasts.

“What model hasn’t shot lingerie?” she asks a little dryly. 

“Stool,” he says, pointing to the stool by the window and she sits on it, her legs falling—

_ Nope.  _ Nope he is not going to let himself acknowledge the way her legs are spreading wide to show the patterning of the crotch of her panties. He’s not going to focus on that at all, not let his brain process the smoothness of her skin as it fades beneath the lace edging or the way his dumb monkey brain thinks  _ she waxed  _ because of course she waxed. She’s a model doing a lingerie shoot.

Her eyes.

He’s going to look at her face. He is a good enough photographer to know that he can capture her tits just fine in this lighting. So eyes it is.

They’re beautiful. Hazel, flecked with brown and gold.

“Should I be sitting some other way?” Rey asks him.

“What?”

“Or are you ready?” Her gaze drops to his—

Camera. He’s holding his camera right in front of his groin. Why—he’s not wholly sure. But he lifts it immediately and focuses the lens and takes a picture. 

And another. 

And another. He approaches her for different angles, directs her to tilt her head—her neck is stunning, the angle of it. Would she mind slipping the bra strap off—just like that, yes. Can you stand—look out the window? I want to get a picture of your ass.

Her ass will be forever burned into his memory, the way the light from the window frames it as she leans forward, arching her back slightly. It’s when the thought  _ I could bury my face between those legs  _ flits across his mind that he decides he needs a break.

“That enough?” he asks his mom, turning away from Rey.

“Over so soon?” she responds tartly. “You really are your father’s son.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demands. He’s feeling more heated than he likes to in professional settings. 

“Rey, dear, they’ll get you set in the next one and refresh your makeup,” Leia tells her and she smiles and disappears into a side room.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ben asks more loudly.

“Exactly what you think it means, and a few other things you probably haven’t thought of,” Leia says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll be back in a moment,” and she disappears after Rey.

It’s been a long time since Ben’s wanted to throw things and break them. And this lens is  _ really _ good so he really doesn’t want to throw it around. But he’s feeling too…

And the thought hits him like a truck.

He has a short break too.

He knows what he has to do.

-

Ok it’s embarrassing how fast he comes.

Like—he’s not sixteen anymore. He’s a grown adult. He’s pushing thirty. He’s touched a boob or two. Granted usually in a professional setting when his mom’s around, but it counts.

So it shouldn’t take him less than a minute to be jizzing into a wad of toilet paper in the bathroom, but that’s where he is. Her tits, her ass—

But now his head’s clear. Which is the most important thing. He won’t need to do this again and his refractory should help him keep himself focused for the next few hours. He’s empty now. No juices left to loose.

Ok so maybe it’s not his mom’s bridal line. Or maybe model number two was supposed to do a different line from Rey because when he comes out she’s wearing black.

He supposes, by some definition, this is a one-piece. Tons of little straps that criss cross her chest and waist, connected by one longer one that crosses her belly. There’s a stretch of black lace covering her nipples and he’s quite sure that, when she turns around, the back will be a thong.

He is really glad he fapped in that bathroom because even  _ empty _ he’s feeling as though his refractory might be tested. Which he didn’t know was possible.

_ You really are your father’s son. _

That was a thought he didn’t need in his head right now.

Rey smiles at him as he approaches. “Couch this time?” she suggests and he inclines his head. He doesn’t think he really has the capacity for speech.

He goes for different angles with this one, his lens crossing her shoulder to get the shot of her tits from above and that long dark line of elastic that stretches down towards her groin. 

He gets her lips—can you bite the corner, yes just like that, you want to look like you’re wanting—he gets the curve of her hip, he gets her ass when she turns around and god it really is such a glorious ass hanging out of that thong the way it is. He could bite it, could grab it. 

But he’s not that kind of fuckhead so he keeps his hands to his camera.

“You’re really stunning,” he tells her at the end of the second shoot.

She smiles at him, a little shyly. “Thanks,” she says. “I can’t wait to see how they turn out.”

And he turns his camera around to show her the pictures. She swallows. “That’s really me,” she breathes.

“Yep.”

“Do you ever feel—I don’t know—like everything you’re doing isn’t actually you until you’re confronted with the evidence.”

For Ben, it used to be violent outbursts, shattered plates and glasses, broken tables and chairs. Not quite the same. “Sort of.”

Or maybe it’s that she’s actually talking to him, dressed in strappy black lace, and not knowing that he’d jacked off thinking about her not even forty minutes before.

“I’ll go change into the next set,” she says, and suddenly she’s gone.

But the scent of her remains on the air. Sandalwood lotion—the one his mom likes and offers to all the models. 

Oh he’s so fucked.

-

“This one was inpsired by Padme’s wedding dress so don’t fuck it up,” his mother tells him and he turns around.

Knowing that couldn’t have prepared him for it. 

She’s decked in lace and it’s the most sheer of all of them, white flowers pulling this way and that, dotted with pearls. He’s speechless. Breathless.

“It’s not her actual wedding gown,” his mother says and it’s all he can do not to whine  _ mom _ at her like a teenager. 

Rey’s breasts, her perfect ass—they’re just visible. The lace is too insubstantial for it not to be, except around the pearls, but the pearls are conveniently far from those beautiful rosy nipples of hers. 

She bites her lip—this time out of shyness, not out of want and his camera is in his hands so fast to capture that look—that one, splashed right across her face. Even if it’s not for a spread, he never wants to forget how she’s looking at him right now. 

“Do you two need a room?” his mother mutters.

“Mom,” he whines at her.

And Rey’s eyes flicker into a smile.

“God you’re worse than your father.  _ And _ your grandfather.”

-

How he makes it through the shoot without springing the most intense erection of his life, he’s not totally sure. It probably has to do with having jerked it in the bathroom, but in all honesty, that hadn’t been as effective as he’d thought it would be when it came to actually getting his mind off Rey, and sex, and, more specifically, sex with Rey.

He talks to her through it all, which should probably also be counted towards not popping a stiffy. All the blood that should be in his dick is being sent up to provide oxygen to his brain so that he can ask her such questions as  _ how long have you been modeling  _ and  _ where are you from _ and, when she overshares in a moment of embarrassment, and admits that she doesn’t know what she’s doing with her life, it provides an adequate amount of oxygen such that he tells her she’s not alone.

And she tells him he’s not, either.

He shoots her in a red and gold number that covers every part of her breasts  _ except _ her nipples; he shoots her in black leather and lace; he shoots her in pristine and angelic silver, wearing a bride’s veil to boot. And later, when they’ve left the set, when it’s just the two of them, he shoots her in nothing at all. He lets her use his camera as he kisses his way up and down her legs, as he feasts on her cunt and thumbs those nipples of her until they’re no longer soft and rosy, but stiff and sensitive. He takes pictures of her eyes when she’s looking at him as though she can’t quite believe that he’s real, takes pictures of her lips which are swollen from the intensity of their kisses. He takes as many pictures as he can because he’ll want proof in the morning when she’s gone that she was real.

-

Except she’s not gone in the morning. She’s there, snoring faintly in his arms, her legs still twined with his. And when she does, at last open her eyes, it takes her a moment to realize where she is and then the softness comes.

And he takes a picture of that too.


End file.
